Broken Toys
by Haldiriell
Summary: Part of "Even The Stars Burn". Follows "The Space Between" and "A Mother's Duty". Khan finds himself recuperating after an accident. His son is there to keep him entertained.


It had seemed like an easy fix. The roof over the kitchen was leaking. Khan had climbed up with tools in hand. He'd forgotten, though, that the roof was also icy, and he'd slipped. Such a stupid thing, falling off the bloody roof to land wrong and shatter his leg.

He hadn't just broken it. No, he'd snapped tibia and fibula, and spiral-fractured his femur. Anthea, now more than seven months pregnant, had been unable to move him. She'd called for Yves and her father, as he'd lain in the snow, his leg at odd angles, and cursed himself for an arrogant fool.

Yves had had to perform surgery and pin his leg back together. While Khan healed quickly, his leg wasn't going to be a speedy recovery this time, not with that much damage. It was a miracle, the doctor had said, that he hadn't managed to gore himself with the fractured femur. It had nearly sliced his femoral artery.

Now, Khan lay in bed, leg elevated. Pain relievers weren't working, because he metabolised them too quickly. All they did was make him a bit groggy.

Anthea tucked the blanket around him, draping a lighter one over the injured leg so it kept him warm but didn't apply too much weight. "Is there anything I can get you?" she asked gently.

"Morphine," he said grouchily. "And a ton of it."

"We don't have any." She perched on the side of the bed and pushed the hair out of his eyes. "I'm so sorry you had to go through surgery awake."

Khan gritted his teeth at the memory. "It wasn't pleasant."

"I did that with Nolan's birth," she said. "And I'll likely have to do it with Sarina, too."

He narrowed aqua eyes at his propped-up leg. Pain and embarrassment made him irritable, and he wanted to snap. But Anthea would give as good as she got, or better. Khan grimaced, then dropped his head back on his pillow and sighed.

"Tea," he said finally. "I'll suffer through."

"I wish I could help more," his wife told him softly. She stroked her fingers down his cheek. She rose a little awkwardly and said, "I'll go get that tea brewing. Do you want to try a hypo of pain medicine, or . . .?

Khan shook his head. "No. It won't do any good, and only make my head fuzzy. I'd rather be alert and in pain than groggy and in pain. At least if I'm conscious, I can distract myself."

"Okay. I'll be right back."

As she stepped out, their almost-two-year-old son, Nolan, slipped by her legs and tottered in, his tribble Spot in his arms. The child also carried a small bucket of toys.

"Nolan-" Anthea began.

"No," Khan said, "he can stay. As long as he leaves my leg alone."

Nolan set the bucket down, Spot still clutched to his chest, and approached the bed. He solemnly eyed Khan's injured leg. "Dada huwt?" he asked.

"Yes," Khan answered. "Rather a lot."

The toddler reached up, but didn't touch the cast. "Owie," he said. "Dada _felled_."

Anthea smiled and shook her head a little, before leaving to fix the tea. Khan levered himself upright a little, adjusting his pillows.

"Yes, I fell," he told his son. "I broke my leg."

Nolan could speak in longer sentences, but preferred communicating in short phrases. His was a brilliant little mind, much like his father's. He squinted at the cast, then went to the head of the bed and held out Spot.

"Hug!" he chirped. "Make feel good!"

Khan looked at the purring ball of fur, and the hopeful look on his child's face. Spot was Nolan's most prized possession and constant companion. That he was entrusting it to his father was a big deal.

Taking the tribble, Khan held the lump of brown fur to his chest. As he did, Nolan went back to the bucket he'd brought in, then scampered around the bed, climbed up to Anthea's side with it, and dumped the toys out on the covers.

They were mostly toys they'd picked up on Elora, little action figures and vehicles, but a few were wooden, carved by Joaquim, little copies of cars from the twentieth century. With amusement, Khan recognised the sleek, angular lines of a Lamborghini. He picked it up with his free hand.

"I had one of these," he told the child, "well before you were born. It was red. Do you know what it is?"

"Caw," Nolan told him proudly.

"Yes, that's right. But do you know what kind of car?"

Nolan frowned, shook his head. "Jus' caw."

"It's a Lamborghini. I don't suppose they make them anymore."

His son scrunched his nose. "Lamboogee?"

Khan repeated the word, slower this time.

Nolan looked at the car, shook his head, and said, "Caw."

His father huffed a laugh. "That works, too."

The child picked an action figure out of the pile and handed it to Khan. It bore something of a resemblance to himself, he noticed.

"Pwince Noony!" Nolan chirped.

Khan arched a brow. "Pardon?"

His son babbled something mostly unintelligible about a prince and a princess and dragons. The gist of it that Khan gathered was that "Prince Noony"-Noonien, perhaps?-was a dashing hero who rescued people, but one time he'd been captured by a dragon, and a beautiful princess had rescued him and they'd gotten married and had babies.

"Did Mummy tell you this story?" he asked the child.

His son nodded like a bobble-head. "Mama tell me stowies!"

That explained a lot. Khan smiled.

Nolan took the plastic man back, and handed him a Tyrannosaurus Rex. "Waww!" he growled.

Khan held the toy, uncertain how to play with the child. So he bounced the T-Rex along the mattress and made it growl. Nolan beamed like a little spotlight, all gap-toothed smiles and chubby cheeks.

The child dove back into the pile, in search of another toy. He made a cry of dismay and pulled out an action figure whose leg had fallen off.

"Fix, Dada!" Nolan wailed.

Moving Spot aside, Khan accepted the toy when Nolan dumped it clumsily in his hands. It wasn't a difficult fix, just a ball joint that had popped out. The irony of fixing a broken-legged soldier was not lost on the man as he pressed the joint back into place.

"You need to be more careful with your toys," he told his son, as he handed it back.

Nolan held the soldier to his chest and turned his blue eyes to Khan's injured leg. "Dada _not_ be caweful," he said solemnly.

Khan snorted. "No, Daddy was not careful."

The toddler studied the blanket-draped leg. He frowned, small brow furrowing. Then he leaned over and kissed his father's knee. "Mwa! Bettew!"

What, Khan reflected with a pang in his chest, had he ever done to deserve this child? Nolan's simple innocence was such a stark contrast to the horrors of his own upbringing. He hoped to keep it that way, at least a while longer.

"Come here, Nolan," he said roughly, and motioned to his son.

The little boy scrambled to snuggle into his father's arms. Khan held him close, and for a little while, the pain of his leg receded.

* * *

Sometime later, Anthea came in with the tea to find father and son cuddled together and sound asleep. Spot sat nearby, doing whatever it was tribbles did. Moving quietly, she gathered up the scattered toys and put them back in the bucket. She left the door open a crack as she left her boys to sleep.


End file.
